#Question...?

[boopiemadz]

Question...?

!SpencerReid X !SwiftieReader (collection)

In which a bright, kind profiler and Spencer Reid fall hard for each other, but his fear of love drives them apart. Months later, a late-night reunion forces them to face their feelings - and choose each other again. (hurt/comfort)

Good girl, sad boy Big city, wrong choices

You walked into the BAU bullpen like a burst of sunlight. Your outfit was a kaleidoscope of colors - mustard yellow cardigan over a floral dress, your favorite beaded bracelet jangling as you moved. Your hair, a wild swirl of curls tied up in a messy bun.

You were 'the good girl' in a different way: the one who wore her heart on her sleeve, who laughed loud and loved deeply, who wasn’t afraid to be vibrant in a world that sometimes seemed gray and heavy.

But here, at Quantico, surrounded by the sharp suits and serious faces of the FBI, you sometimes felt like a splash of paint on a canvas that was mostly black and white.

And then there was Spencer Reid.

He was 'the sad boy' - always a little distant, his deep brown eyes hiding stories you could only guess at. His thick glasses were often smudged, his mind raced faster than anyone else’s, and sometimes it looked like it was running away from him.

You noticed him all the time as he sat alone, hunched over his laptop, fingers tapping nervously on the keys. You couldn’t help but wonder what he was thinking about, the things he kept locked inside.

You wanted to reach out but weren’t sure how. Spencer wasn’t like the other agents who chatted over coffee breaks or made jokes in the hallways. He was quieter, more serious, and since you had joined just a month or two ago you didn't know him that well.

One afternoon, you caught him looking up from his screen to meet your eyes. For a brief moment, he looked surprised, like he hadn’t noticed you before, but now he had. Then he quickly looked away.

That night, you stayed late, finishing notes on a case. The bullpen was almost empty, when suddenly, Spencer appeared beside your desk, holding a pile of files.

“Hey,” he said softly, voice almost shy. “Could you help me? I’m stuck on this profile and… I think I’m missing something.”

You grinned. “Sure thing. Let’s figure it out.”

As you leaned over the papers together, your hands brushed, and you felt an unexpected warmth spread through you. For once, the noise of the city felt distant, and all that mattered was the quiet connection growing between two people who usually lived in different worlds.

Over the next weeks, you found yourself making excuses to talk to him - about books, music, the weird quirks of life. You shared stories, laughs, and little moments that slowly pulled you closer.

Spencer opened up, telling you about his love for chess and classic movies, about the weight he carried from a past that sometimes felt too heavy. You told him about your dreams, your fears, and the way you tried to stay bright even when the world tried to dull your colors.

Slowly, the shy, sad boy revealed himself to be so much more. You, on the other hand, started to crack your own carefully built walls, showing him the parts of yourself you rarely let anyone see.

One rainy night, after a particularly tough day on a case, Spencer walked you to your car. He hesitated, then whispered, “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

You smiled softly, feeling your heart quicken. “Neither are you.”

We had one thing goin' on I swear that it was somethin'

That was the beginning - the fragile start of something, the thing was… you hadn’t meant for it to happen.

Not really.

You weren’t the type to fall for coworkers, and Spencer wasn’t the type to open himself up like that. He was a wall, tall and quiet, built out of trauma and encyclopedias and all the things he didn’t say.

But you slipped through the cracks anyway.

It started with coffee. Of course it did. One morning, you brought in two - one for you, an over-the-top iced latte with whipped cream and caramel drizzle, and one for him, black with a splash of milk and like a dozen sugars, just the way you’d noticed he made it.

He blinked at you like you’d handed him a whole planet.

Then there was the time your hand stayed on his arm a beat too long. The time you said, “Be safe,” and he replied, “I will. Because I know you worry.”

It built slowly, like pressure in a pipe, all the looks, the jokes, the things unsaid. Until one night in Detroit, the dam broke.

You’d just solved a case that had left your whole team shaken. A child victim. A messy, sick ending. The whole team had gone to bed in the dingy hotel, drained, except for you and Spencer. You were sitting against the wall beside him in the hallway, just outside your doors, the glow of vending machine light casting him in pale green and gold.

“I hate when it’s kids,” you whispered, your cheek against your knees. “It feels different. Wrong-er.”

Spencer nodded slowly.

You looked at him, really looked at him - the way his hair curled just slightly at the nape of his neck, the hollow under his eyes, the way his long fingers picked at a loose thread on his sleeve.

You let your head rest against his shoulder. And neither of you said anything for a long time. That night, when he knocked hesitantly at your hotel room door, you took his hand first.

And when he kissed you - gentle, nervous, like he was asking permission with every breath, you kissed back like you’d been waiting your whole life.

You didn’t tell anyone. Not for a while.

The BAU was its own world, sharp, judgmental, full of eyes that noticed everything. You didn’t want your bright, fragile thing touched by all that.

So you existed in the in-between. Knowing glances across the jet. His hand ghosting yours under the table. The way he’d leave a note in your desk drawer with an obscure fact or a soft compliment written in his careful handwriting.

You had one thing going on.

And it was something.

Something that made your heart ache in the best way when he’d whisper, “I missed you,” against your shoulder at 3 a.m. Something that made you laugh when he recited a statistic about oxytocin during one of your late-night movie nights, then he went beet red and mumbled, “I just mean… that’s scientifically why cuddling feels good.”

It wasn’t just flirting. It wasn’t just stress relief. It was messy and real and terrifying and beautiful.

'Cause I don't remember who I was Before you painted all my nights A color I've searched for since

The night he ended it, he cried after you left. Not when he said the words - he was clinical then, trying to stay composed.

But when the door clicked shut, when your steps grew quieter down the hall, when the soft scent of your shampoo still lingered in the air that’s when he fell apart.

It was barely a conversation. It didn’t need to be.

You’d known for weeks he was pulling away. He was quieter in the mornings, distant on cases. He stopped reaching for your hand under the table on the jet, stopped texting you those odd little facts just because he thought they’d make you smile. He was still kind. Still Spencer. But softer, farther. Like he’d stepped behind glass.

And you, bright and blooming had tried. God, had you tried.

You left silly notes in his coat pocket, brought him that vanilla tea he liked without asking, wore your yellow dress because he once said it made you look like spring.

But love isn’t about the things you do to earn it. It’s about someone letting you stay.

And Spencer… he stopped letting you stay.

“I think,” he said that night, his voice trembling like something fragile in the cold, “we should stop this.”

You froze.

Your chest tightened, but you didn’t cry. Not yet. You just whispered, “Why?” He didn’t meet your eyes.

“Because I’m scared,” he said finally. “I don’t know how to survive loving someone, ever. I just can't do it. I think I'm meant to be alone, I can't don't think I can handle relationships...”

Your lips parted, stunned by the truth of it.

You were the one who showed up. Fully, recklessly, in color. You loved without flinching.

But Spencer… Spencer had spent a lifetime being left. By his father. By his childhood. By Gideon. Loving you - someone alive and here and golden and real, meant opening his chest again, raw and unguarded.

And he didn’t know how.

So he did the one thing that made sense to a man terrified of grief: He left first.

The breakup was quiet. Your tears came only when you were alone - not out of anger, but out of aching. Because how do you mourn someone who’s still alive? Who still walks past your desk in the mornings? Who still laughs softly at things Emily says across the office?

Spencer didn’t mean to break you.

But he did. And it broke him too.

In the days after, the world dulled. Not just around him but inside him.

He stopped drinking coffee altogether. Said it reminded him of you. He avoided the breakroom around 10 a.m., when you’d normally bring in pastries and dance slightly to the music playing from your phone. He stopped using his favorite pen because you’d borrowed it once and chewed the cap out of nervous habit.

The worst part?

He thought of you constantly. Your laugh echoing down the hall. The way you used to curl your legs under yourself when reading reports. The way you said “Spence” like it meant something - not just his name, but an invitation.

He started seeing you in places you weren’t.

The scent of cinnamon from a bakery downtown made his throat close. A glimpse of yellow on the metro made him freeze. A girl humming under her breath in line for coffee made his eyes sting.

He’d painted his nights gray again.

But he remembered the way they used to be: gold-tinted, wild-colored, full of light. The color you’d brought. And now everything looked faded in comparison.

You weren’t whole either. You didn’t blame him - not really. But God, you missed him. You missed the safety of his voice when you couldn’t sleep. You missed the way he touched your wrist so gently, like he was afraid you’d disappear.

You missed being chosen by someone. But now you were back to being alone.

People stopped asking about it. About him. About you. As if silence could erase what had lived so loudly between you once.

But you still saw him. Still passed him in the hall. Still watched him when he wasn’t looking, wondering if he felt it too - that ache in the chest when a future you wanted vanishes.

Because the truth was:

You didn’t remember who you were before him. Before he made the world feel like something tender, like something worth naming.

He had painted your nights in a color no one else could replicate. And now, no matter how far you ran, how much you tried to forget- you searched for it.

In strangers. In playlists. In dreams you couldn’t remember when you woke up but still left you aching.

Because it wasn’t just that he left. It was that you loved him enough to stay, and he was too scared to believe it would last.

But one thing after another Fuckin' situations, circumstances Miscommunications, and I Have to say, by the way I just may like some explanations...

It had been months. Months of space, and tension, and watching Spencer Reid become someone you knew too well from a distance that felt like punishment.

There had been almosts.

He’d brought you coffee once. Not your usual order, a step off, but it made your hands shake to hold it anyway. You’d ended up alone in the file room with him once, inches apart, eyes locked, both of you too scared to move. You’d even caught him once, watching you like he didn’t remember what life was before you, and wasn’t sure how to live it now.

But none of those almosts turned into anything real.

Because every time you thought maybe he’d come back - really come back, something else happened.

One thing after another.

A grueling case. Someone getting hurt. Him shutting down again, disappearing into data and paperwork and metaphors for pain. You growing more brittle, more tired of waiting.

So when you finally spoke again - really spoke - it wasn’t over candlelight or a quiet rain or some poetic reunion.

It was in the BAU parking lot, late at night, headlights casting long shadows across your face. You weren’t even sure who walked up to who. You just ended up there, and it hurt. God, it hurt.

Because he was right there, and he still felt so far away.

You let out a quiet breath, clutching your coat tighter around yourself. “I’m so tired of pretending you don’t matter to me anymore.” Spencer flinched. He didn’t look away. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know that,” you said. Your voice didn’t crack - it burned. “But you still did.” The wind cut sharp between you. It smelled like winter and gasoline.

“You keep showing up,” you continued, “and then pulling back. You bring me coffee and walk me to my car and tell me you miss me without ever saying the words, and I’m just-”

You broke off, eyes stinging.

Spencer stepped forward, but stopped himself. You laughed, bitter and soft. “It’s like every time I try to forget you, you do something that makes me remember everything all over again.”

He was silent. And you were done waiting.

“Can you just tell me why?” you whispered. “Why you can’t just come back to me?” He looked at you like you’d opened a wound he didn’t know was still bleeding.

“Because I don’t know how to trust that it won’t destroy me,” he said. “Because I still love you, and that scares the hell out of me.”

That word - love - hit you like a blow.

But you didn’t crumble. You stepped forward, eyes shimmering, voice steady now. “Then let it scare you.” He blinked, stunned.

You shook your head, emotion choking up your throat. “Because I’m standing here, waiting, wanting, hoping. And it’s killing me that you won’t meet me in this. You say you’re scared. Fine. Be scared. But come back anyway. Just-” your voice cracked now, “just choose me anyway.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but no words came. So you said it.

“I love you,” you whispered. “And I don’t know how to not love you. Believe me, I’ve tried. No one matches up to you. No one sees me the way you did. No one feels like home the way you did.”

He looked like he wanted to say it back. Like the words were on his tongue. But he didn’t. Not yet.

And that was the worst part - knowing he loved you, knowing you still lived inside his heart, and still watching him let the silence take over.

You stood there, eyes on each other, everything unspoken suspended between breaths.

A standstill. Two people still in love. One too scared to move. The other too tired to wait.

Can I ask you a question?

You stepped back half a pace, chest still heaving from everything you’d just said, and motioned gently toward your car.

“It’s late,” you said, voice quieter now. “Let me drive you home.”

Spencer blinked, caught off guard. “I - what? No, I’m fine. I can take the subway.”

You gave him a look - tired, soft. “It’s raining, Spence. And it’s almost midnight. You’ve got that look in your eyes like you haven’t slept in days. Just… let me take you home. Please.”

He looked down at his shoes.

You didn’t know it, but in his head he was already halfway down the damp subway steps, hunched into himself, trying not to remember the look on your face when you said “I love you.” Trying not to imagine what it would’ve felt like to let you in again.

He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t know how to ask not to be. So he nodded. “…Okay.”

The car ride was awkward. So awkward it hurt.

The rain tapped soft patterns on the windshield. You kept both hands on the wheel like a lifeline. He kept his hands folded in his lap, staring out the window, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into his coat.

Neither of you spoke for the first ten minutes.

You reached for the volume knob once, like you might put on music, but stopped yourself. Every song felt too full of meaning. Every lyric might crack you both in half.

Instead, you cleared your throat.

“I’ve never seen you cry before.”

Spencer glanced over at you. His eyes flicked away just as fast. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I didn’t mind.”

Silence again.

But something softened. His fingers unclenched slightly. Yours did too. When you turned onto his street, you caught him stealing glances at you, just quick ones, like he didn’t mean to get caught.

You pulled up in front of his building and parked. Rain pooled in the gutter beside the curb. The streetlights cast a pale golden glow across the dashboard, making his hair look soft and his cheekbones look haunted.

You didn’t say anything. Neither did he. You didn’t need to.

There was something louder in the quiet than words could’ve ever been.

Spencer let out a breath. “This feels like the part where I go inside and ruin everything again.” You turned to him, eyebrows drawn. “Why would you think that?”

“Because I always run away when I want something too much,” he said, voice breaking. “Because I thought I was doing the right thing by leaving. But all it did was make me miserable. And you… you moved on. Or tried to. And I keep replaying the last night I touched you over and over and I-” He cut himself off, voice fracturing like glass. “I’ve missed you so much, it’s made everything else feel fake.”

You didn’t move. Just listened.

“I think I’ve loved you since the first night you slept over at my place,” he whispered. “Maybe earlier. I just didn’t want to call it that. I was too scared to name it.”

Your heart twisted, then bloomed.

You reached over - slow, steady - and took his hand. His fingers twitched but didn’t pull away. You ran your thumb across his knuckles.

“You’re allowed to be scared,” you said. “I just wish you’d let me be scared with you. That’s what love is, Spence. It’s not perfect. It’s just showing up anyway.” He looked up at you.

And you knew, without him saying it - he was going to kiss you.

There was something aching and ancient in the way his eyes searched your face, like he was trying to find the version of himself you still saw.

Then he leaned forward.

You met him halfway.

The kiss wasn’t soft. It was desperate.

Months of silence and grief and longing collapsed into it - the way your hands curled into his jacket, the way his fingers cradled your jaw, the breathless exhale he gave when your mouth opened under his, the small, broken sound you made when he tugged you closer across the console. It was messy. It was hot. It was dizzyingly real.

He kissed you like he was starving, like your mouth was the first taste of oxygen after drowning in grayscale. You pushed your fingers into his hair, pulled him deeper. He made a sound - almost a whimper - when you whispered his name against his lips.

And then he broke.

His forehead dropped against yours. He was breathing heavy, voice hoarse when he said, “I’m so sorry I left. I’m so sorry I let fear win.”

You just held him.

“I know,” you whispered. “But you’re here now.” You kissed again, slower now. Tender. Less panic. More promise.

He pulled back a fraction, looked at you with wet lashes and an open mouth. “I don’t want to go inside alone,” he said, voice barely there. “Not tonight.”

You squeezed his hand. “Then don’t.”

He nodded slowly, and the smile that touched his lips, small, uneven, trembling - was the most honest one you’d seen in months.

“I love you,” he said again. This time like it didn’t scare him. Like it was the most certain thing in the world. You smiled back, kissed his cheek.

“I love you too. Always.”

That night, you went inside with him. You made tea. He lit a candle. You sat on the couch, tangled up, his fingers laced with yours, your head on his chest.

And for the first time in a long time, he didn’t run.

He stayed.

And when you both finally fell asleep, wrapped up in each other, hearts stitched with new thread, the color he’d been searching for finally returned.

Warm. Golden. Undeniably, impossibly you.

[taylorswiftarthistories]

Northern Lights by Sydney Laurence, 1921 / "Question...?" by Taylor Swift

[hope-ur-ok]

I guess she really did miss playing the archer

[piecesintoplaces]

we had one thing going on, i swear that it was something 'cause...

[andichoseyou]

The Eras Tour surprise songs parallels

July 4, 2024—Amsterdam, Netherlands: The Archer / Question...? (mashup)

[swiftieinbrazil]

Taylor Swift's songs with a question in the title

[thenighttrain]

half. moon. eyes. bad. sur-prise did you. re.a.lise. out. of. time. she was. ON. YOUR. MIND. WITH SOME. DICK.HEAD. GUY THAT YOU. SAW. THAT. NIGHT. BUT YOU WERE ON SOOOMETHING it was one drink. after. another. FUCKING. politics and gender roles and you're not sure and i don't know got swept away. in the grey. i just may. like to have a conversation..... CAN I ASK YOU A QUESTION!!!

[anonymityisfunwriter]

Question...? (Complete Mini-Series)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader Summary: After years of back and forth, years of unknowns, and lifetime of questions, it's time for answers.

Steve Rogers Masterlist | Inspired By Taylor Swift Anon's Birthday Celebration

Act I - “Can I ask you a question?” Act II - “Good girl, sad boy, big city, wrong choices…” Act III - “Situations, circumstances, miscommunications…” Act IV - “Did you leave her house in the middle of the night?" Act V - “On your mind with some dickhead guy…” The End - “It’s just a question.”

[throwbackgaylor]

may 20, 2023 | one year ago today

taylor before singing ‘question…?’ as the first surprise song at n2 of eras foxborough, ma:

“I've just never been this happy in all aspects of my life ever … I just sort of feel like my life finally feels like it makes sense. So I thought I’d play this song, which brings me really a lot of happy memories.”

many fans feel ‘question…?’ was written about the public kiss taylor and karlie kloss shared at the 1975 concert they attended on december 4, 2014, more widely known as kissgate

[ourdifferentscarletletters]

[sarrf]

And by the way i miss hearing “bejeweled” ‘s audio sound in TikTok when it meant people are traveling and they arrive to the stadium place as it shows their whole outfits , i love going on there in the audio it gives me another chance to check new ideas for outfits! whoever created that audio here’s a hug🫂! “bejeweled” audio holds too many memories and trips for the eras tour🫶🏻 , does it feel like the eras tour were yesterday? It’s just a question🤷‍♀️

[starlighttaylorsversion]

AND EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR FRIENDS WERE MAKING FUN OF YOU

BUT FFIFTEEN SECONDS LATER THEY WERE CLAPPING TOO, then what did you do

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

The Archer/Question...?

Did I have any recollection of this one? Absolutely not. I remember her doing The Archer in the acoustic set after it got axed from the main stage (RIP) but this completely escaped my mind lol.

This is such an interesting one! It's not an obvious match to me at first glance, but then throughout the performance I saw the vision.

It comes down to: Who could ever leave me darling, but who could stay? It's just a question. The question, actually.

(lol I love how gagged the crowd is and she is for that matter when she breaks into "It's just a question.")

One lyric parallel that struck me that I think kind of drives this mashup is I've got a hundred thrown out speeches I almost said to you and Can I ask you a question? As in, you have a million things you want to say to and ask the person, but ultimately you can't because they're long gone.

I think it's a really neat transition from the first part of The Archer with Easy they come, easy they go, I jump from the train, I ride off alone / I never grew up, it's getting so old, help me hold onto you / I've been the archer, I've been the prey / Who could ever leave me, darling? But who could stay? to the first verse of Question...? with Good girl, sad boy, big city, wrong choices / We had one thing going on / I swear that it was something 'cause I don't remember who I was before you painted all my nights a color I've searched for since / But one thing after another, lost in situations, circumstances, miscommunications. Because to me, this combined story implies that the "sad boy" she tried to hold onto did not in fact stay, and she's replaying their past wondering where they went wrong. She'd just like some explanations, indeed.

In short: it's the slippery slope from "help me hold onto you" to "do you wish that you could still touch her?"

One thing I really love is the way she sings the "oohs" in Did you leave her house in the middle of the night? Did you wish you put up more of a fight? Because they sound SO sarcastic! On the studio version they just sound like vocal effects/ad-libs to me, but here she's so fucking bratty singing them, it's like she's saying "oh what a shame for you, dumbass!" Similarly I love the way she sings Did you realize, out of time, she was on your mind with some dickhead guy that you saw that night? because it's equally cunty lol.

For some reason I also really enjoy the transition between the end of Question...?'s chorus of Do you wish you could still touch her? to The Archer's bridge because it culminates in the question she seems to be really asking all along: Can you see right through me? Because in this way it almost sounds like: Is that why this didn't work out? When it goes into All the king's horses, all the king's men couldn't put me together again / 'Cause all of my enemies started out friends / Help me hold onto you we now know in this story that she tried to hold onto him, but he couldn't hold onto her. To me it almost sounds like someone who's fallen apart (couldn't put me back together again) asking what went wrong after separating from the person in Question...? who was too insecure and indecisive to fight for her.

Of course, the loveliest part might be the end where we get a OG Eras reprise of Who could stay? You could stay to close out the song. And just like the original version, you can read into it what you want! Is the you the crowd? Is the you the sad boy? Choose your own adventure!

As an aside, The Archer sounds so beautiful on the piano like this. I missed seeing the full production of it (sigh it still was the better transition into the Fearless set but I digress) but it was lovely for it to make a reappearance in its new form on the B stage! And Question...? sounds surprisingly sad on piano too, which I wasn't expecting. And paired together, oof.

Last thing: The way the crowd jumps in at "15 seconds later they were clapping too" rivals the album version and I have to say this crowd was elite lol. She must have been so thrilled at that!

I didn't expect to have so much to say when i first watched this but here we are!

[chocolate-sherberries]

Spotify decided it was okay to make me listen to Question...? by Taylor Swift on Smart Shuffle while I am in the trenches of the Tevan break up 😭 Being a Swiftie and a Tevan fangirl is such an emotionally draining full time job 😭

Can I ask you a question? Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room And every single one of your friends was makin' fun of you But fifteen seconds later, they were clappin' too? Then what did you do? Did you leave her house in the middle of the night? Oh Did you wish you'd put up more of a fight, oh When she said it was too much? Do you wish you could still touch her? It's just a question

[andichoseyou]

eras tour surprise songs parallels

5/20/23—Foxborough, Massachusetts: Question...? / Invisble